Loyalty
by InvincibleEnigma
Summary: What if Shaw was working for Samaritan when she ran into Root? Makes liberal assumptions based on the 4x11 extended promo.
1. Prologue

"Sam, it's me," Root called from behind Shaw, turning her pistol upwards in a gesture of goodwill. "I'm putting my gun down."

Shaw turned as Root placed the gun on the floor by her feet, her own pointed at Root. Root smiled and took a step forward just as Shaw fired, sending her falling to the ground in shock.

Blood erupted from her right shoulder and Root groaned in pain.

"Sameen…why?" she asked, the sting of betrayal obvious in her voice.

Shaw neglected to answer, instead moving closer and kicking Root's weapon away.

"I'm Samaritan now," she said, her features blank. "You know that."

"I thought it was just an act, until we could get to you," Root whispered.

"Now you know it's not." Shaw nodded to the growing pool of blood on the ground. "Might want to get pressure on that."

"You…shot me," Root said, disbelief flooding her cadence as blood wet her fingers.

"Not the first time," Shaw replied, turning on her heel. "Next time it'll be between the eyes."

"Wait," Root begged. "I don't understand. We left you that day at the stock exchange, I get that, but…" she trailed off.

"Samaritan patched me up," Shaw supplied curtly. "Gave me a nifty earpiece and my identity back."

"Shaw," Root pleaded. "If there had been any other way"—her mind flashed back to the explosion and Shaw's broken, bleeding body in the underground—"but without John, we would have all died if I'd tried to carry you."

"I told you to leave." Shaw's voice was emotionless, and Root still remembered the sob choking her throat as she'd stroked Shaw's hair one last time before Harold pulled her away.

"It was work for them or die, I get it," Root said. "But I can take you back to the subway now. We're in a camera dead zone."

Shaw chuckled mirthlessly. "Then what? Wait there 'til they show up to finish me off?"

"Not a permanent solution, true," Root admitted. "But Harold and I will work on getting you a new identity, I promise."

"This is more fun," Shaw said, and Root shivered at the violence dancing in those dark eyes. "I have a team, killing's allowed and I have a machine in my ear." She tilted her head slightly, and Root saw the device.

"Sameen, you can't mean that," Root insisted, her heart breaking. She grabbed Shaw's right leg with her injured arm despite the pain, desperate to stop her from leaving.

"Get off," Shaw said coldly, trying unsuccessfully to pull her leg from Root's grasp.

"Please," Root begged, her eyes watering. "We need you."

For a moment it looked like Shaw was going to come around. Then she pulled her leg free from Root's grasp and stepped on Root's fingers, pressing them into the jagged pavement like a cigarette that needed stamping. Root cried out, the combined pain from her shoulder and her hand too much to bear.

"Leave me alone," Shaw stated once more.

Then she walked away, leaving Root bleeding on the sidewalk, two of her fingers bent at an odd angle.


	2. Chapter 1

Root wept later that day in the subway, the loss of Shaw and the fact that she had no idea how they were going to win this war weighing on her soul. After finally peeling herself from the ground she had sought medical treatment, ignoring the curious glances hospital staff gave her upon noticing the other scars on her shoulder. Root didn't tell him how she'd received her latest injuries, but there had been a knowing look on Harold's face when she walked in sporting what was almost becoming a regular arm accessory. He offered her silent sympathy, seeming to know there was nothing he could say that would make it better.

Shaw had unwittingly acted as a diversion that fateful day. She'd blown the auxiliary power grid for the stock exchange sky high, giving Root and the others the smallest of openings in the main building. The former assassin had gone in alone, taking out everyone they sent and surviving long enough to plant the charges and detonate. Root had wanted nothing more than to be there, covering her and even sacrificing herself if need be; but, she knew her and Harold's combined skills were needed if they were going to stop the financial collapse. Ultimately that had been more important – for them and for the world at large. And they succeeded, but not without cost.

Reese had given his life defending them from the mob of agents led by Lambert, and by the time Root had finished her task there was little she could have done to help. What broke Root's heart was that Shaw had almost gotten out, and her mind went over and over how things could have been different if she had been there; questions she asked herself and The Machine without answer. Shaw had practically been clear of the blast radius, when several guards she'd downed earlier caught up with her at the exit. In the ensuing shootout, Shaw emerged victorious, but the hits she took slowed her down long enough that she was caught in the tail end of the explosion. Root had raced there with Harold and found her lying amidst the rubble. She was battered and bruised, but the piece of debris stuck in her torso was the real clincher. Root couldn't remove it safely and there was no way she and Harold could carry her and defend themselves on the run.

So Root had left her and a part of herself behind, as she and Harold fled for their lives. Shaw had given her permission to leave, even demanded it that way of hers, but that didn't alleviate Root's feelings of guilt and loss. They'd assumed she had perished just like Reese, but in the following weeks Root had had a nagging sense that she was still alive. It was something she couldn't explain, but was nevertheless sure of. Sometimes it was the rustle of leaves in the wind; other times the sense of being watched when she was alone. But more than that, it was the visceral certainty that Shaw was out there somewhere. This begged the question of why she didn't return, and Root liked to think Shaw was recuperating somewhere safe and couldn't join them just yet. That hadn't stopped her from looking every day. Root didn't tell Harold where she went when they weren't working together, because she was afraid that telling him before finding her would somehow make it all recede into the crevices of her imagination. They were both tech people – nerds, as Shaw had liked to say – but Harold was a man of science, and she was sure he wouldn't have believed anything she said without hard evidence.

After weeks of searching without Her input, Root had been rewarded with a glimpse of Shaw. She had been elated to see her alive, but confusion slowly dawned as Root noted the team of accompanying Samaritan agents. Then she'd realized the only way Shaw could have survived was if she'd had proper medical care, the kind Samaritan alone could have provided once her cover had been blown and hospitals rendered inaccessible. Which meant that in return, Shaw was being forced to act as their lackey, Root reasoned, and kill people who got too close to the truth. Perhaps she couldn't escape on her own, now that Samaritan had her on a leash – there could be trackers in her skin or even a chip in her brain. Root shuddered at the thought of the latter. So she had bided her time, updating her knowledge of tracking and control devices and figuring out how to disable as many configurations as possible in the field. The Machine had been silent, and Root proceeded on her own initiative.

When she finally got her quarry alone, Root had been prepared for any eventuality.

Except the one where Shaw wanted to be working for Samaritan.

The one where Shaw shot her in cold blood.

Root would have understood if the other woman had hated her for leaving with Harold. She could have dealt with anger and betrayal, but Shaw had been cold as a frozen lake. Almost as if she knew something Root didn't. Or maybe she just enjoyed the perks of working for Samaritan better and Root was a fool for thinking she'd ever come back to them and Her. Being shot this time was a lot more painful, not because Root had been taken by surprise, but because she hadn't believed Shaw would pull the trigger. Root had seen the human side of her in the time they'd worked together – anger, impatience and even concern so reluctant it was endearing – and that made what happened today all the more difficult to bear.

Harold, too, had been grieving the loss of their team members in his own way, Root was sure. He had come to see them as comrades, if not friends, as so much more than helpers who did heavy lifting in the field, as they had been in the beginning. They'd both agreed that either recruiting Fusco full-time or finding other possibilities was the only way forward, but between their cover identities, Root's missions for The Machine and the irrelevant numbers, they simply hadn't found the time. And perhaps neither of them wanted to admit what hiring new members meant.

As Root dried her eyes and walked over to the table where Harold was working, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. A figure in black slowly emerged.

Shaw.

Root reluctantly drew her gun with her left hand and moved to stand in front of Harold, ignoring the twinge in her shoulder.

"Relax, I'm unarmed," Shaw declared, and sure enough she had both hands in the air as if expecting to be frisked.

"What do you want?" Root asked. Harold sat with his mouth agape.

"Got a plan to discuss," Shaw replied calmly, unfazed by the gun pointing at her. Then again maybe she knew Root could never shoot her.

"How long before other agents show up?" Root demanded.

"Just me," Shaw said evenly. "Promise. You can search me if you like."

Root waved her gun to indicate Harold should search Shaw. If possible, he went paler, but seeming to realize the importance of the task, if not the reasoning behind it, he went over to her. Watching Harold attempt to search Shaw would have been hilarious under any other circumstances: The man had clearly never searched anyone in his life, and even cooperative, Shaw was clearly the wrong place for him to start learning. She helpfully pointed out locations he'd missed, but even then Harold was reluctant to touch certain areas.

"She's clean, Ms. Groves." Harold went back to his chair, saying nothing to indicate his surprise at seeing their former comrade alive.

Root said nothing, keeping her gun trained on Shaw.

Shaw dropped her arms to her sides and stepped closer. "You can put that down if you like," she said to Root. "I'm not going to do anything."

"You shot me," Root accused, and it sounded petulant, even to her ears. Harold gasped as if he finally understood something.

"Had to," Shaw said, reaching out to examine Root's bandaged fingers, and Root wasn't sure why she let her. "Good. Just dislocated."

Root bit back an angry retort on behalf of her digits. "What are you playing it?" she asked, still fingering the gun.

"The Machine really hasn't told you," Shaw probed, disbelief showing on her features.

"No."

"Would have thought it was obvious." Shaw moved to inspect Root's shoulder and Root stepped back involuntarily. "I'm undercover."

"On whose orders?"

Shaw opened her palms but didn't answer. "Just going to look," she said softly. "Make sure it's clean."

Rook took a deep breath and nodded, finally putting the gun away.

Shaw moved Root's sleeveless shirt out of the way and probed the area gently. "Bullet went through," she said, sounding pleased. "Just muscle. It'll hurt for a few days, but you'll be fine."

"I'm thrilled," Root said sarcastically, aware she was behaving childishly, but not entirely sure why. "Got any other tips for me, doctor?"

"Maybe we should hear Ms. Shaw out?" Harold suggested mildly. "We are happy she's here, right?"

Both women turned to glare at him and he muttered a brief, "Never mind," before going back to work.

"Look, Root," Shaw began, looking uncomfortable for the first time. "If I hadn't stepped on your fingers, would you have let go?"

"Maybe you should have told me what you were doing instead of shooting me," Root shot back, hating the vulnerability that crept into her voice, even now.

"Had to be convincing," Shaw repeated, staring at some fixed point in the distance. "Samaritan watches my movements and listens in on my conversations."

"Yet here you are," Root said accusingly. "Leading them right to us."

Shaw held up her hands in a placating gesture. "I disabled everything before I came."

"Should I believe you?" Root asked, narrowing her eyes.

"No matter what you think," Shaw said patiently, her eyes shining with something Root almost mistook for compassion. "I wouldn't hurt Finch or the dog."

"Just me then," Root said, so softly that Shaw had to strain to hear.

"The alternative was be killed by Samaritan. Would you have preferred that?"

Root shook her head in dismissal, neatly reassembling the layers of a mask used to present a veneer of calm. "You came to discuss something."


End file.
